


Blush

by vix_spes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had never thought he’d be distracted by Mycroft’s ears of all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blush

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at [sherlockbbc_fic](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com) ; Mycroft is actually quite shy. It's just that he knows how to hide it. But it doesn't mean that he can control his bodily reactions as well. If you observe enough, you will notice that his ears go red quite often. I have a kink for ears, and I think Gatiss' ears are quite cute! Can I have a fic where someone just loves how Mycroft's ears go red so often and adores it? :D

John wasn’t completely certain when he first realised that he found it endearing, but once he had noticed it, it was highly distracting. The ‘it’ in question? That fact that when Mycroft Holmes is feeling rather shy or even feeling a little embarrassed, his ears turn a rather delicate shade of red.

It had taken him quite a long time to realise this, almost fifteen months of living with Sherlock in fact. It was all Sherlock’s fault of course (it always was), both that it had taken him so long to realise and that he had realised it at all. The first could be put down to the fact that Sherlock refused to allow Mycroft into the flat unless he really had no other option (the detective tended to ignore the fact that Mycroft had a key and Mrs Hudson was quite fond of him) and even then the visits were kept as brief as possible. Generally, they occurred when John was at the surgery and the only sign that Mycroft had visited was the fact that Sherlock was always in a foul mood. He finally realised when he hadn’t managed to get any locum work and had a few days off, a few days that he was relishing spending at the flat relaxing. Unfortunately for him, on the first day of his relaxation, Mycroft turned up. The second was due to Sherlock’s inability to go for any period of time without teasing his older sibling. He rarely got to see the siblings interact and knew absolutely nothing about what had caused the friction between the two but their relationship seemed to be even more volatile than the relationship he shared with Harry. He’d certainly never teased Harry as viciously or as gleefully as Sherlock did Mycroft. He didn’t even understand where the jibes about Mycroft being fat or being on a diet came from (God forbid that Sherlock have such a thing as a photo album) but he assumed that the elder Holmes had had a problem with his weight in the past. He watched in fascination as Mycroft’s ears turned a stunningly delicate shade of pink at Sherlock’s latest jibe and wondered at how frequently it happened and under what circumstances. He also found himself mildly shocked by the fact that he found this very human reaction of Mycroft’s rather endearing.

The first time that Mycroft had kidnapped him, John had been rather more pre-occupied by the fact that he had been _kidnapped_ by somebody who could manipulate CCTV cameras and described himself as Sherlock’s arch-enemy to actually pay much attention to the person he had met beyond the fact that he carried a furled-up black umbrella. The whole CCTV thing was still very creepy (John could swear that on some occasions he was even followed by someone that worked for Mycroft – the hairs on the back of his neck kept prickling as though someone was watching him) and the appearance of Moriarty probably meant that Mycroft had been demoted from the position of Sherlock’s arch-enemy but, having paid more attention to the man himself, John was somewhat intrigued no end by Mycroft.

He wasn’t really sure where it came from; he knew even less about Mycroft than he did about Sherlock. That wasn’t really surprising considering the fact that he actually lived with Sherlock whereas he only saw Mycroft intermittently (either when he was kidnapped or when Mycroft wanted to solicit Sherlock’s help for something) but considering how little he knew about Sherlock it wasn’t saying much. Come to think of it, it was virtually nothing. Beyond the fact that Mycroft claimed he occupied ‘a minor role in the British government’ and he was never seen in anything other than an impeccably tailored three-piece suit and was never without his perfectly furled black umbrella, John knew absolutely nothing about the elder Holmes.

Subtly, John started trying to see Mycroft more often without arousing Sherlock’s suspicions. It was trickier than he thought but he managed a few meetings without being kidnapped, as well as a few run-ins at the flat. When Sherlock refused to talk to Mycroft, instead staring at the back of the sofa, John tried to make conversation in an attempt to get to know the older man. He found the differences between the two siblings rather obvious when you looked for them although the similarities were there as well. Sherlock automatically drew the eye where he went, striding around dramatically in that damn coat of his, but Mycroft’s good looks were more subtle but once John had noticed them he was mesmerised. He wanted to know if the auburn hair was as soft as it looked, wanted to see if those freckles that were scattered across his nose and cheeks were anywhere else, wanted to kiss him, wanted to shatter that ever-present composure. He wanted to see if that delightful blush spread anywhere else other than Mycroft’s ears. He couldn’t understand Sherlock’s comments about Mycroft’s weight; he liked the way Mycroft looked. He liked the slight belly the older man had, always cleverly hidden by the tailored clothes. He found it adorable and couldn’t help but think that it would make Mycroft incredibly comfortable to cuddle; infinitely better than a stick insect. He had the feeling that Mycroft was as much of a genius as Sherlock, if not more so, and he had the same habit of deducing people although he had more social skills than Sherlock in that he didn’t tend to blurt them out to people. Disregarding Sherlock’s grumblings about how he shouldn’t encourage Mycroft by talking to him, John tried to make conversation, asking Mycroft about his work, what he did outside work, anything that he could think of really. During the course of this he noticed that Mycroft’s ears tended to turn red when he spoke about himself even though there was no other outward reaction that he could see.

It didn’t take him long to resign himself to the fact that he was (rather inexplicably) attracted to Mycroft Holmes and even less time to resign himself to the fact that the attraction was not returned and in all probability wouldn’t be returned. Mycroft was completely inscrutable, even more so than Sherlock, and John didn’t have a clue whether Mycroft was even vaguely interested in him. He didn’t even know if the man was attracted to men at all, after all he did wear a wedding ring. There wasn’t even anybody that he could ask; Anthea or whatever her name was wouldn’t be able to drag herself away from her Blackberry long enough to answer the question and asking Sherlock would just make him unbearable.

(~*~)

It was probably the most surreal situation that John had found himself in and that was saying something having lived with Sherlock.

‘The most dangerous man you’ve ever met.’ That was the way Sherlock had described Mycroft when John had informed him about their first meeting. John had absolutely no doubt that when he wanted to be, primarily when he was working, that that was absolutely the case. He did have difficulty reconciling the Mycroft Holmes that he was seeing now with the Mycroft Holmes who was the shadow Government and the shadow Secret Service all rolled into one.

He was sat in the conservatory of a very elegant townhouse in Kensington, having tea with the indomitable Mummy Holmes and in the company of a very sullen Sherlock and a cringing Mycroft. Mrs Holmes had put her foot down and summoned Sherlock, stating that he was being a child and that she finally wanted to meet this man who hadn’t run away screaming even after so many months of living with her youngest son. Sherlock had grumbled and complained, playing the violin for hours but when the black car pulled up at the door of 221b he hadn’t had any option but to get in it, an intrigued John trailing after him.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting from the much-lauded Mummy but it hadn’t been what he had been greeted with. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had obviously inherited various physical characteristics from her but their height came from their father as did their rather eccentric habits although, from the conversation that ensued, Mrs Holmes was just as intelligent as her sons. She had been perfectly lovely, with all of the natural social skills that neither son possessed, and had been determined to embarrass both sons. It didn’t take her long to warm to John and, to both men’s devastation, proceeded to ask John if all of their bad habits were still there. When he had jokingly asked which ones she meant, she had proceeded to expound on all of them before moving onto stories of the two growing up. Mycroft protested loudly, trying desperately to change the subject, while Sherlock resorted to turning his back to the room and sulking but Mrs Holmes was obviously used to this and had every intention of ignoring them both as she left the room to get out old family photo albums. John chanced a sneak peek at Mycroft and saw with delight that there were traces of a slight flush already apparent. As Mrs Holmes returned with the albums and proceeded to go through them in excruciating detail with John, that blush just increased as details of Mycroft and Sherlock’s childhood were divulged. John listened in fascination as he was told that Mycroft was the shy one, refusing to talk to anybody, while Sherlock would talk the hind-leg off a donkey if he was given the chance and smiled to himself as he saw a picture of Mycroft in what must have been his late teens, decidedly plumper than he was now, trying to avoid the camera with a bashful smile and a beautiful blush. More than anything, he wanted to be the one that caused that smile. The smile disappeared as rapidly as it had formed when Mrs Holmes had admitted that Sherlock had garnered all of the attention as being the ‘beautiful’ one and that Mycroft had been very much pushed into the background and teased for his looks as everybody wanted Sherlock. It affected him much more than he thought it would and he frowned upon seeing Mycroft acting most out of character and pressing himself back into the corner of the sofa, almost as though he were trying to make himself invisible.

Sherlock managed to stay put for two hours although his bitchy comments and grumbling increased rapidly as the time went on. Finally, his patience snapped and he stood up, grabbing his coat and sweeping out of the door, pausing briefly only to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek.

“John! We’re leaving!”

With Sherlock half-way out of the door, John gathered up his courage and moved over to where Mycroft was hurriedly gathering up the photo albums, his ears the vivid red that had gradually been building up all afternoon both due to his shy nature and embarrassment at all of the personal information that had been divulged by his mother. Only stopping when he was so close that he could feel the warmth of Mycroft’s body, he stretched up on tiptoe inwardly cursing the fact that Mycroft was even taller than Sherlock, albeit it by a scant inch, and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth before pulling back.

“Not all of us want Sherlock...”


End file.
